


Good Samaritans

by HixyStix (GaiaMyles)



Category: Jericho (US 2006)
Genre: Assault, Blood, Claustrophobia, Gen, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2761493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaiaMyles/pseuds/HixyStix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These must be two of those inmates, which meant they’d somehow overpowered the guards and escaped – and then lain in wait for a more suitable escape vehicle.  If they were loose, so were the rest.  There were more inmates out there and Sheriff Dawes didn't know; Jericho didn't know.  And he and Jimmy had walked right into a trap.  </p><p>Jesus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Samaritans

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted to fill out what happened to the deputies between the first two episodes, particularly from Bill's POV and playing with my idea that he may have anxiety issues.
> 
> Given that prompt, you know it's not happy.

“Sheriff?  Yeah, there’s no sign of Jake out here.  In fact, there’s no sign of _anybody_.  We’re, uh, we’re gonna head back.  Let me know if the kids need anything?”  Jimmy paused, glancing at the radio receiver.  “Sheriff, you there?”

Bill looked over at Jimmy and shrugged.  “Busy with the school bus, you think?”

Jimmy laughed.  “Yeah, that many kids at once, he may not have heard us.  I can barely hear the phone with just the two.”

They were driving back to town when Bill spotted the car:  a beat-up silver junker with its hood popped and two guys peering into the engine.  He pointed at them and Jimmy nodded, turning on the spotlight and pulling up in front of the car.  

“Sheriff, we’re stopping to help some stranded motorists about six miles out on Willow Creek,” Jimmy radioed, but there was no reply.

“Those kids must be giving him hell,” Bill said, opening his car door.  

“Couldn’t pay me to teach elementary school and I _like_ kids,” Jimmy remarked as they approached the broken-down car.  “Hey, you guys look like you could use some help.”

The men didn’t respond right away and Bill felt his skin crawl, realizing that something wasn’t quite right.  “Jim-” he started, but before he could even finish the word, both men spun around, shotguns aimed directly at their middles.

Bill froze, but his mind – and pulse – was racing.  Oh, hell.  Those were prison-issue shotguns.  They were wearing federal penitentiary uniform shirts.  That was blood on the shirts.  He could now make out the shape of a person slumped over in the driver’s seat of the stranded car.  Oh, hell.  Leavenworth _had_ notified them that they would be transporting some of their more violent inmates to Loomer Ridge and travelling through Jericho County today.  He’d totally forgotten in the chaos.  These must be two of those inmates, which meant they’d somehow overpowered the guards and escaped – and then lain in wait here for a more suitable escape vehicle.  If they were loose, so were the rest.  There were more inmates out there and Sheriff Dawes didn’t know; Jericho didn’t know.  And he and Jimmy had walked right into a trap.  

 _Jesus_.

They each had a shotgun, which meant neither he nor Jimmy could hope to draw their pistols in time.  There wasn’t anything he could do right now except cooperate and hope to find an opportunity to escape - or provide a distraction so that Jimmy could escape.  It was certain they both knew the area and terrain better.  Maybe one of them could get to a farm – the Jacksons and Herberts were out this way and while the Herberts had never been on the best terms with the Sheriff’s deputies, they’d never turn one away in an emergency.

This assumed they found an opening.

“You were right, J.P.  We found ourselves a couple of Good Samaritans,” drawled the man with a goatee.  “And cops, too, imagine that.”

“Told ya this would work like a charm,” said the other man – J.P. – with a predatory grin.  “Now, gentlemen.  I’m gonna need you to take off those belts of yours and set them to the side.”  He motioned briefly with the shotgun, but never took his eyes off them.

Carefully, both Bill and Jimmy complied, letting the belts – and their firearms and radios – drop to the gravel.  The men directed them through taking off their shoes, shirts, and Jimmy’s pants – “Not you, shorty.  Your pants ain’t gonna fit either of us.”  Bill kept a wary eye on their captors, hoping one or both would be distracted and give them an escape opening.

No such luck.  Bill stood there, tense and shivering in the chilly fall air without his shirt or coat, and watched as the goateed man rolled duct tape over to him.  “You’re gonna tape up chubby for us.  Arms first, behind his back, then legs and mouth.  Got it?”

Bill’s heart rose in his throat, but he glanced over at Jimmy.  His partner looked sick but nodded.  They really didn’t have a choice at the moment.  As gently as he could manage, he bound Jimmy’s arms and legs, tearing the tape with his teeth.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Get out of here, Bill.  Just run,” Jimmy implored, but there wasn’t a chance for Bill to even try.  As he reluctantly placed the last piece of tape over Jimmy’s mouth, the inmates walked over to them and grabbed the duct tape from Bill’s hands.

J.P. kicked the back of Jimmy’s knees, dropping him to the ground while Goatee wrenched Bill’s arms behind his back and started wrapping the tape around his wrists.  Once Bill was taped up, the inmates picked up their discarded uniforms.  Goatee kept his khaki pants, but they both put on a shirt and a belt.

Then J.P. popped the trunk of the patrol car.

Bill panicked.  He had to fight back now; there were no more chances for escape.  If they were left on the side of the road or stuffed in the backseat, they had a chance.  Not the trunk.  If he went in that trunk, he wasn’t coming out.  You don’t kidnap a cop and then let him free or negotiate a ransom; you take him somewhere he won’t be immediately recognized and dump the body.  

Good God.  This was it; he was going to die.  He was going to be a body.  Would they find him?

Bill thrashed, doing his best to stand, hop away, _anything_.  Goatee ran at him, armed but not aiming, and Bill tried to head-butt him, but the man stayed just out of easy reach.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that J.P. had pinned Jimmy and was grinding his face into the gravel.  Bill fell backwards and kicked out with his bound feet.

 _Crack_.  He felt ribs give as Goatee slammed the butt of his shotgun into Bill’s side.  And again.  And then as Bill curled on the ground in pain, once more, glancing off his face – he felt his nose break with the impact and he was glad it hadn’t been a direct hit.  A thud and a grunt beside him told Bill that Jimmy was receiving similar treatment, but he couldn’t see.  A final blow with the weapon hit him directly on the temple.

Bill fell still.  His vision swam and he couldn’t bring himself to move without feeling nauseous – and though his thoughts were loose and sluggish all of a sudden, he still knew that was bad.  Throwing up while he was gagged meant he would drown on the vomit and that would be a horrible way to go.

“Simon, help me get these guys in the trunk before they cause any more trouble.  We’re lucky no one’s driven by yet.”

Footsteps around him and the sound of a heavy weight being dropped in the car trunk.  Jimmy?  Bill couldn’t tell; he couldn’t even open his eyes without getting another wave of nausea.  One of the men came back and picked Bill up, throwing him over his shoulder.  Oh, fuck, that pressed on his broken ribs and he felt every pulse of blood in his head and drop from his nose and he came very close to throwing up.

He landed hard in the trunk, half atop Jimmy.  Jimmy was breathing – he could feel his chest move – but that was all Bill knew for certain.  He struggled despite the pain, feebly, but the trunk lid slammed shut and trapped them in total darkness.

No.  No, this couldn’t be happening.  Bill wasn’t ready to die.  He was going to, he knew, he couldn’t stop it from happening, but he wasn’t ready.  Had he told his parents he loved them?  Good God, if they found him, someone would have to identify his body; he couldn’t let that happen to his family.

He started breathing faster and the stars behind his eyelids began to narrow in.  The air in the trunk felt oppressively heavy.  No, he couldn’t do this; he couldn’t die here.  But he was going to.  Air, he needed air; he needed to be able to move his arms; he needed _out_.  He threw his head back and arched his back, trying to move in any way, trying not to scream from pain; Jimmy grunted beneath him and Bill knew he was hurting Jimmy but that didn’t matter right now; he had to do something but nothing was working.  He tried to gasp for air but nothing was coming through the duct tape and he was breathing in blood from his nose and it wasn’t enough and his head felt light and _no he had to fight, he couldn’t go_ –

 


End file.
